Through the Looking Glass
by teslasward
Summary: The aftermath of 3x06 from Mickey's perspective with some tie ins to 3x07-3x09.


It'd only been a few days since the world ended and reality came roaring on in again, but Mickey still couldn't get the scene out of his mind. Since the day that him and Gallagher first realized they were turned on while fighting, he'd known it would come to this, but what surprised him was not that Terry caught them, but how he, Mickey, reacted. Rather than letting Ian get the shit kicked out of him by Terry, Mickey had jumped onto his dad's back and fought desperately to pull him off.

Why though?

It was rare for Mickey to give a fifth of a shit about anyone outside his family, let alone attack his dad to defend that person. What did that mean?

"Fuck," he hissed through his teeth. On the way out he grabbed the .22 out of Mandy's drawer.

It was where he always went when he needed to just get away from everything and just kill something. The tattered straw target still had all the bullet holes from when Kash shot him, from when Frank had caught him and Ian at Kash & Grab, and especially after Ian had bragged about sleeping with the "viagroid".

Mickey wasn't big on religion or spirituality, but this shitty abandoned building was the closest thing to a church for him. It was cathartic. More importantly, it was isolated.

Growing up a Milkovich, you didn't cry. You never cried. Crying meant getting a good whip from Terry's belt along with getting called a "sis" or a "fag" or whatever insult dawned on Terry at the moment. The only time Mickey ever cried was when he was alone, when it wouldn't come across as weakness, at least until Terry pistol whipped him and paid some mail-order slav to 'fuck the faggot out of him'.

Terry made Ian watch, and Mickey couldn't explain it, but the sight of Ian on that couch as the Russian was riding him, made him almost tear up. It didn't process why he was trying to protect Gallagher, that wasn't the thought, but like the unspoken bond they had meant something. And nothing came like a swifter punch in the nads than watching Ian try to flee, try to run and then not even looking at him while he was getting fucked at gunpoint.

He could barely open his eyes the day after from all the swelling, and it took all his willpower not to fucking scream whenever Terry would walk by him on the couch, pat him on the shoulder, and say, "You did good kid. She fixed you right up."

Once he was able to walk and see and get out of that hell, Mickey fled to that little alcove in the abandoned building. He took a few shots at the target with the .22, missed each time, then finally just dropped the gun and slumped against the wall.

"Why am I such a fucking faggot?!" he screamed as he slammed his fists against the ground with tears welling up in his eyes. "It ain't fucking fair. Fucking Gallagher prances around like we're in a world populated by fucking rainbows and unicorn farts, meanwhile I get this shit. If I'm not supposed to be ashamed, Firecrotch, why the fuck did I get the shit kicked out of me? Why didn't anyone do anything when I beat up the geezer?"

After about an hour, he'd composed himself and stood back up to attempt another shot at the target. Out of the corner of his good eye he saw Ian on the opposing roof, but didn't make a move. Ian walked in all casual and played off the situation like it was nothing, like he expected things to just go back to normal. Mickey just tuned him out.

"…Yeah, I can't just stop thinking about it. What happened…" was the only line that even momentarily broke his concentration. Who the fuck did Ian think he was? Nothing even happened to him. He just had to watch. Scratch that he didn't even look at him.

"WOULD YOU AT LEAST _LOOK AT ME_?!" Ian screeched.

Mickey hesitated again, and almost turned and hissed back, "Why should I when you couldn't even look me in the eye while it was happening you fucking pussy?" , but he decided silence would get that across just fine. Ian left and once Mickey was sure he heard the rust latch close on the ground floor, he emptied the remaining magazine on the straw target and broke down.

A few weeks later, Terry burst into his room looking like the fucking Publisher's Clearing House people had come with a giant check to the front door. Groggily Mickey mumbled, "The fuck's got you doing a jig?"

Terry ran up to him and shook him by the shoulders, "You're gonna be a dad fuckface!"

Mickey's eyes went blank and he zoned out, unsure if he heard that correctly.

"The fuck?"

Terry yelled again, "The girl's pregnant, from the other day. You know, the one who's gonna be your wife." Once the sentence was finished he dashed out of the room to Mandy to spread the 'good' news.

Mickey couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. All that he kept seeing was _that_ day. Him, half-conscious on the couch. Ian hiding his face in disgust as the malnourished hooker slipped his dick into her. He could sarcastic excitement from Mandy's room and died a little more inside.

Back at the spot, Mickey had traded up from Mandy's .22 to Iggy's .44 and was blasting craters in the straw target with tears in his eyes. "Fuck you Gallagher. Fuck you." He knew marrying this bitch was a way out of his troubles, a way out of people thinking he was a fag, but the thought of his time with Ian kept hanging heavy in his head. He liked the guy, sure, but fags don't love people, that's what makes 'em fags. That's the way he'd learned it. Dudes fucked dudes, just because it felt good, not because they loved em. To have normal life, he had to be done with Ian.

A few days after this, Mickey had cleaned up a bit and scrounged together a halfway presentable outfit from the local Salvation Army for a few new job interviews to get him out of the Kash & Grab. Before heading out, he decided to take out some rage at an old construction lot.

Ian walked in.

"Mickey."

Mickey, turned slightly, barely looking at Ian. "The fuck you want? If you ain't got nothing to say, then get the fuck out of here."

Ian walked out towards him, "Is it true?"

Mickey bit his lower lip hard, clenched his fists and spat out, "Is what true, assface?"

"That you're getting married."

No response.

"To some whore you knocked up."

No response.

Ian stared at Mickey for a moment before mustering up the courage to provoke him further. "It's Russian, isn't it?"

In the space of 5 seconds all that raced through Mickey's head was, "No shit Sherlock. How fucking dare you?" before he wheeled around and socked Ian HARD in the abdomen, bringing him to his knees.

After a few gasps of air Ian managed to cough out, "But…you're gay and you love me."

Cracking his knuckles, Mickey grimaced. "Nah, Gallagher. That don't work. Those words don't go together, and…," he mused before delivering a strong right hook to Ian's face, "don't you EVER put fucking words in my mouth. I ain't gay." He turned his back to Ian.

Ian wiped the blood from his mouth, "Really? You're gonna play that game Mr. Ben Wa Beads?"

Mickey clenched his teeth and spun back around, trying to push back the redness in his eyes that was destined to be tears any minute now. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, YOU FUCKING GINGER ASSHOLE."

And the façade broke. On the word 'asshole' his voice began to quiver and his eyes got watery. "Just leave, Ian."

"Mickey, I'm sorry. Look I…."

Full-fledged tears were on Mickey's cheeks now. "Please, just leave. I can't do this anymore. I can't."

As Ian walked up to him to try and hug him, Mickey spun around and smacked him in the temple. "The world ain't fucking sunshine and daisies Gallagher! You want to get anywhere, you gotta like pussy."

With a quivering lip and tears soaking his cheeks Mickey fakely smirked. "I was just lucky enough that I got a girl to turn me around before it got outta hand."

Ian was stunned. He knew it was a lie, but still to hear the words from Mickey's mouth was jarring. "Mickey.."

Before he could finish, Mickey pulled out the .44 and pointed it right at him. "Get out while you still can Gallagher."


End file.
